


Lips as Red as Blood

by Fullmetalcarer



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Snow White Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer
Summary: Prince Charles of House Xavier is born with a gift granted by the fae. How will he fare when he encounters Erik of Lehnsherr, touched by the fae, but believing his gift a curse?





	1. A boon granted

Once upon a time there was a Queen and she was barren. She did not wish for a child, but her husband the King, who she loved greatly, longed for a son and heir. So she rode into the forest, leaving her servants behind, and sought the Witch of the Woods, who is also called Destiny.

"Tell me how I might bear a son and I will give you my golden crown and my pearl earrings and my diamond necklet."

"I do not want your jewels, O Queen. I will tell you what you seek to know because I see how my words will shape the future. Wait for the first snow of winter, then lie with your husband and as the sun rises do you go to your window, prick your finger so the red blood drops upon the snow, beg the forest spirits to grant you a son and a son you shall have."

The Queen heeded the words of the Witch and when the first snows of winter turned the fields into blank parchments, gilded the palace roofs and made the trees bend and crack, she lay with the King. As the sun rose, she threw open her casement and pricked her finger with the pin of her sapphire brooch. The snow lay thick upon the carven ebony window frame and her blood shone upon it in the first light like rubies.

"O forest spirits, grant me a son with skin as white as snow, hair as dark as ebony, eyes as blue as sapphires and lips as red as blood."

When the moon had waxed and waned again, her woman's time did not come. The weeks passed and she began to show. The King rejoiced and called her all the sweet names under the sun and she was glad to see him happy, though she did not want the child. Nine months passed and she gave birth with much pain and travail, as is the way of women.

"A son," cried the King, "a son and he shall be called Charles Francis. Is he not beautiful my love?"

The Queen looked at her son and saw he was beautiful, with his snowy skin and ebony hair and sapphire eyes and blood-ruby lips. And she saw how the King loved him and though she had borne him for love of her husband, she loved the child not. She was jealous of him because the King doted on him so.

Thus Charles of House Xavier came into the world; the boon of forest spirits, beautiful as the day, loved by his father and hated by his mother. And his life was to be as strange as his birth.


	2. A raven alights

When Charles was twelve years old he found an injured raven in the forest. He had been wandering there alone, weeping over the death of his beloved father. His loneliness was a hand round his throat, gripping so tight he could not breathe. His mother had withdrawn into her chambers and would see no one, certainly not her despised son.

The raven had sharp claws and a wicked beak, but the little Prince was not afraid as he had only known love and adoration all his short life, except from the Queen. He tucked the raven into his shirt - it cawed and bloodied his fingers - and made his way back to his rooms in the castle. He splinted its broken wing with pencils and thread and made a nest for it by his bed out of his oldest clothes. He begged some scraps from the kitchen - pretending to be hungry - and fed it and put a bowl of water beside it.

In the morning he woke and leaned over the side of his bed to see how his patient did. Lying in the nest of clothes was a young girl of much his own age. Her skin was bright blue and covered in whorls of scales. Her eyes glowed like the coals of a fire. Her hair was scarlet as a robin's breast. One of her arms was much bruised and torn. Charles fell out of his bed and landed beside her.

The girl scrabbled away from him and pressed her back into the corner of the room.

"Don't be afraid," said the little Prince. "I mean you no harm. Who are you? How do you come to be here? What happened to your arm?"

The girl said nothing. She gazed at him with her strange eyes. A sudden thought, a foolish, absurd thought, shook him.

"Are . . . are you the raven?"

She nodded.

"Are you of the fae?"

"I am. As are you."

Her voice was clear and pure.

"I am not of the fae. My parents are, were, of human stock."

She laughed, a strange combination of harshness and pealing bells.

"Your mother begged you as a boon from the forest spirits. You are touched by the fae. Do you not hear the true thoughts of others despite what their mouths say? Do you not feel their grief as your own? Do you not joy in their gladness as though it were yours? Can you not move the minds of others to your will?"

He gasped.

"Yes, yes, yes to all, but I try very hard not to. I am most careful not to change thoughts or direct actions. All the teachings of the Church say such things are evil, witchcraft and of the devil."

The blue girl smiled.

"The fae are not of the devil. Nor are they of your God. They are of themselves alone and so are their gifts. Such gifts may be used for good or ill, but they must be used lest they turn upon the gifted one."

They gazed at one another. Charles noticed a trickle of blood run down her arm.

"You are bleeding. Please let me help you."

She inclined her head.

He fetched warm water, towels, bandages and ointment. He cleaned her wounds and anointed and bound them.

"How were you hurt?"

She grinned.

"I had a disagreement with a fellow fae. He did not fare so well."

"Are you hungry? Can you eat our food?"

"Yes to both."

He brought bread and cheese and chicken and fruit and milk. The fae child wolfed it all down.

"What is it like in your world?"

"Boring."

He laughed.

"But all the tales say the realm of the fae is full of wonders."

"So it is, but even wonders become over familiar with time. I am thinking of spending a few decades in the human world. It is not as though our worlds are separate. Everywhere they impinge and overlap."

"How old are you?"

"Older than the oldest human living, though that makes me but a child to our kind."

"Where will you go?"

She tilted her head.

"This is a palace, is it not? You are a Prince. I like the idea of living in luxury."

Charles bounced up and down with excitement.

"You would stay with me?"

"I would."

He embraced her. Her scales felt cool and pleasantly rough again this skin. Then he drew back in disappointment.

"But you cannot stay. They would kill you on sight."

She grinned.

"But why?"

Her scales flickered and her blue skin changed to peach and her golden eyes turned grey and her scarlet hair lengthened and turned flaxen.

"You . . . you are a wonder," he breathed. "Will you be my sister?"

"I will."

"What shall I call you?"

"Why, Raven, of course."

And so the little Prince gained a playmate and a sister and a friend who understood his fae gift. And though he did not grieve his father any less, yet his sorrow was eased. The courtiers and servants were certain someone had told them Raven was the daughter of some minor lord from some distant part of the kingdom. They could never quite remember who told them. The Queen paid her no more mind than she paid her son.

Two years passed and Lord Kurt of Marko came courting the Queen.


	3. A spring wedding

Kurt, Lord Marko brought many fine gifts for the Queen; cloth of gold, a ruby circlet and a peacock feather cloak. He spoke many fine words too. He knew how deeply she had loved her husband so he was full of praise for the dead King's work, lauding his wise and peaceful rule. The Queen began to spend less time in her chambers and more walking in the gardens or, if the rain fell, strolling the long gallery with Lord Marko. Gradually he spoke less of the dead King and more of her beauty, her gentleness, her wisdom and his admiration for her. The Queen was lonely. Lord Marko was a tall and strong man, handsome in a florid style. Her thoughts began to turn towards him.

The thoughts of young Prince Charles turned towards him too. The young Prince, now fourteen years of age, was practiced in the use of his fae gift. He could hear the thoughts of others, many others, and not be overwhelmed. He could feel with them, yet not be dragged down by their grief or dazzled by their joy. He was wise beyond his years in the ways of men and women.

The one part of his gift he had not exercised was the power to change minds, to bend others to his will. Despite the urgings of his fae sister, Raven, he felt this power was of the dark and would not use it.

Now he saw clear as day that Lord Marko had no regard for his mother except for her wealth and power as Regent. His thoughts of her were all contempt and scorn. His thoughts of Charles were darker still. The Prince was young. The world was full of dangers. Charles might yet not live to reach his majority and take the crown. And if that came to pass, why should not King Kurt rule and his son, Cain, after him?

Charles went to his mother.

"My mother and my Queen, I would speak to you of Lord Marko."

She frowned. "What have you to say that I would care to hear?"

"You will not care to hear it mother, yet I must speak."

"Speak then and take the consequences."

"Mother, Lord Kurt has no love for you. He loves only your position and power. He would supplant me and put himself on the throne."

The Queen laughed.

"And how would you know this?"

Now the Prince could not tell her the truth. She despised him already and would fear and loath him if she knew he was touched by the fae, though it was through her means.

"I hear gossip, my mother, I listen to servants and courtiers."

She laughed again.

"The gossip of servants and courtiers. Truly, words of the Oracle. You are jealous because my heart is filled with warmth towards him and a fist of ice when I look on you. You are a strange and cursed boy. You know things you should not. You consort with that wild Raven child rather than choosing more befitting companions. You have knowledge beyond your years. I weep for the day I birthed you. Who is to say King Kurt would not be a better ruler than King Charles?"

He was shocked and stood amazed. He knew his mother did not love him. He knew she regarded him with indifference and dislike. He had not thought she hated him.

"Would you have him slay me, then?"

"Slay you? Slay you? What need for that?"

"A great need if he is to rule."

"You speak like the evil inclined boy you are. Not all are as drawn to darkness as you. You would be set aside, not killed."

"Do you truly believe Marko would feel secure as King with the true heir still living?"

Her hand shot out and she slapped his face so hard his lip split and bled.

"Speak no more you vile thing. I will marry Kurt Marko and you will smile and call him father."

He bowed and left her, face stinging, and want to find his sister.

Her thoughts led him to the library.

"You have been in the wars," she said, wiping the blood from his lip with her kerchief.

"It was mother."

She led him deep amongst the bookcases and sat him on a window seat and closed the deep red, velvet curtains to shut out the world. She transformed into the blue scaled, scarlet haired, golden eyed fae that she was.

"Tell me."

He told her what had passed. She was silent. His gift told him what her answer was.

"I will not."

She bared her teeth in a snarl.

"You will not use your gift to change your bitch mother's mind? You will not use it the change that bastard Marko's mind? Why not?"

"It is evil."

"Their plans are evil. It would be a good deed to change them."

"To twist another's mind to my ends can only ever be evil, no matter the ends."

She hissed like a snake.

"The ends justify the means."

"Not in my eyes."

She stood up, her scales fluttered like butterflies alighting in a field of flowers. She took her golden haired, peach-blossom skinned, grey eyed form, clad in blue and silver robes.

"Then you are a fool and I will not have a fool in my head."

She was fae and as such could shut him out. He felt her mind fade and disappear. It was as though she'd died. He reeled from the shock and reached out to her with hand and mind.

"Sister - "

She slapped his hand away and her mind snapped shut like a steel trap.

"You are no brother of mine."

She strode away. He stood in the library, his favourite refuge, and wept as he had when his father died.

On the first day of the month of May, with the trees clothed in fresh green leaves and blossom bursting on every branch, the Queen of Westchester married Kurt, Lord Marko in the flower filled cathedral.

Charles smiled and called him father and shielded his mind with great walls of stone so as not to hear the thoughts of his mother and stepfather.

Raven cast a darkling glance at him from across the cathedral nave, then turned her face to the wall.


	4. A frozen summer

Now in the far north of the land, where perpetual snows made an unwritten page of the landscape and the trees snapped in twain under their burden of white and great rivers of ice flowed from the mountains to the valleys, there dwelt a powerful sorcerer named Shaw.

He hated the fae, for their powers rivalled his own and he would brook no equal. He took as servants those who had been touched by the fae and taught them their gifts were a curse and that they should hate the fae who had so cursed them.

His greatest servant was Erik the Hunter. Shaw had brought up Erik from a child and had often told him how the fae had slaughtered his parents and gifted, or rather, cursed him as a grim jest. Erik's curse was to know the mind of metal and bend it to his will. He felt the currents that moved the compass needle and could change their course. Iron answered most readily to his call. It took many years of harsh training before he could master other metals, but now, in his twenty third year, all bowed to his command. Gold like sunlight, silver like the moon, copper like the bright leaves of autumn, steel like spring rain and iron like thunderheads; he was liege lord to them all.

Shaw was a stern master, but Erik owed him his life and and living and felt bound to him. Sometimes he dreamed of another life. A workshop where he created beautiful things of metal. A cottage with a vegetable patch and flower beds. Children who called him father and laughed in play and cried at scraped knees, who he could protect and love. No wife though, for Erik was doubly cursed. His thoughts of love turned not to women, as was natural, but to men, an abomination in the eyes of God and man. Shaw had discovered his second curse and told him it was of the fae also, so Erik hated them greatly.

The sorcerer called Erik his Hunter because any man Shaw wanted dead, Erik slew. He never failed. How could he when his arrows never missed and his blades ever struck true, dancing to his power? His enemies weapons flew from their hands or turned upon their masters. He could track a man by the metal he carried and the iron in his blood. He had even slain fae; who are stronger, faster and more cunning than men and have their magicks. Iron is poison to the fae. Erik was grim beyond his years and all feared him, save his master, Shaw, who called him his son, though Erik was no child of his.

Kurt, Lord Marko, Regent of Westchester made the long journey to Shaw's fortress one frozen summer. He brought gifts of gold and silver and gems. He spoke flattering words and bowed down to Shaw and feared and hated him. Shaw saw his heart and was amused.

"Honoured as I am by your visit, Lord Marko, surely you have come so far on such a perilous journey for more than an exchange of courtesies?"

"I have a stepson of some sixteen years of age, my Lord Sorceror, the heir to the kingdom. Since I married his mother, the Queen, many . . . accidents have befallen him, yet still he lives. Stones fall from crumbling towers and miss him by inches. Brigands plan to waylay his carriage, yet stand aimlessly by while it passes. His favourite dish is placed before him at dinner and he will not touch it and the food is found to be poisoned. He has a charmed life. People whisper he is protected by the fae."

Shaw smiled. Beads of sweat formed on Marko's brow. Erik, standing at Shaw's side, thought him a contemptible creature.

"All this is most interesting, but what has it to do with me?"

"I have heard, Great Sorcerer, you are able to know all the secrets of a man merely by touching something he has much handled."

"This is so."

Marko produced a bright blue tunic from a satchel.

"This belongs to my stepson, Lord Shaw. Would you do me the great favour of telling what you glean from touching it?"

Shaw nodded graciously and gestured to Erik to bring the tunic to him. As soon as Erik touched the garment, he felt a strange thrill run thorough his whole body. He stood amazed.

"Erik, the tunic," snapped Shaw.

Much loathe, Erik bowed and handed it to his master.

Dark currents moved about Shaw's head and hands. The shadows deepened. Strange whisperings sounded at the edge of hearing. Marko went white as the snow on the window ledges. Shaw chuckled. Marko looked as though he was going to void his bowels. Shaw laughed. 

"Lord Marko, your stepson is not protected by the fae, he is fae, or at least half of their blood. His mother begged him as a boom from the forest spirits and their filthy touch is all over him. He has the power to read men's minds. He has the power to change men's minds. He is a dangerous creature indeed, as is his companion, the golden haired, grey eyed, peach skinned girl."

"The Lady Darkholme?" cried Marko, astounded.

"She is full fae, blood of their blood, bone of their bone, ancient and accursed. Would you see her true form?"

Marko trembled and nodded.

The dark currents poured into the centre of the cavernous hall and surged up to form the image of a young girl, as Shaw had described her, a pretty, fair haired, fair skinned, plump cheeked child. The currents swirled. Her skin turned to scales of cobalt, her hair as red as the fires of hell and her eyes golden as some fanged forest beast.

Marko shuddered. The image disappeared and the currents dispersed and faded into the shadows.

"Monstrous is she not? And this is the companion your stepson chooses. Hers are the words that govern his actions. Fae and half fae. You are in great danger, my Lord Marko."

The Regent fell to his knees.

"Help me, Lord Shaw, help me I pray."

Shaw stood and stepped down from his throne. He gestured for his guest to rise. Marko clambered ungracefully to his feet.

"I will gladly help you against the treacherous fae. Erik here is my most trusted servant. I call him my Hunter. He has slain many, men and fae. He can do what is necessary to protect you and the kingdom of Westchester."

Marko's gaze fixed on him. Erik smiled widely. Marko blenched and turned to Shaw.

"Thank you, my Lord Socerer, thank you. I am forever in your debt."

"Oh, not "forever", Lord Regent," said Shaw, smiling his silky smile. "Come, let us take refreshment and speak more on this grave matter."

They walked away, side by side, Sorcerer and Fool.

Erik thought on what he had seen and heard. Marko had obviously been trying to kill his stepson, but if the boy was half-fae and consorted with fae, he was hardly to be blamed. Yet something stuck in Erik's craw. Marko had thought the boy human until this day. Then there was the fae girl. Erik knew he should find her blue and scarlet and gold form vile, but he did not, he found her beautiful.

He picked up the tunic. It was scorched as though it had passed though fire. It drifted to ashes in his hand.


	5. A stranger's arrival

Spring turned to summer and summer to autumn. The trees burned red and gold. The breeze blew chill. The Prince Charles wandered the palace gardens, kicking his way through piles of leaves and gazing sightlessly at the late roses. His heart was sore and his cheek stung with more than the cold wind. He had been walking the castle walls when he felt the intent of a man on the battlements, poised to lever a great block of stone from its place. Charles had leapt backwards, the block had crashed to the earth before him and granite splinters had etched his cheek with red.

He went to his mother, but she dismissed it as an accident and sent him away with harsh words ringing in his ears. The courtiers with whom he had grown up, who loved him and who he loved in turn, had been replaced by lackeys of Marko. He could not turn to them. Raven, his beloved sister fae, shunned him, thinking him a fool for not turning the minds of the Queen and the Regent with his gift. Even his personal servants were hirelings of Marko, no more to be trusted than Kurt himself. He had never felt more alone.

There was a soft step behind him. He spun round, startled, for he had felt not the touch of a mind. It was Raven, in her human form. They gazed at one another.

"Come, sit with me," she said.

She took his hand - her fingers were warm - and led him to a secluded arbour, swathed in fading roses and protected from the wind. They sat. Hope stirred in the Prince's breast. Raven changed, bright blue scales fluttering like falling leaves, eyes as golden as the low autumn sun, hair as red as ripened apples. She took Charles' other hand.

"You are a fool, but so am I. You are too kind, too gentle, you will not use your power to take power. Yet would I love you as I do if you were not so? I was afraid for you. I was angry because I was afraid. I was cruel because I was angry. I am sorry, my brother. I still think you a fool, but you are my fool, my brother, chosen by my own free will, my Charles."

She embraced him and opened her mind to him. He wept upon her blue scaled shoulder and let the currents of her mind flow through him like summer zephyrs. Her thoughts were tinged with the otherness of the fae, wilder and brighter than human musings. To him she felt like home. Raven did not weep - the fae do not shed tears - but she stroked his wind blown hair and kissed his brow.

"Promise me one thing, Charles. Promise me you will protect yourself, not at the cost of another's life or mind, but at the cost of a few memories and some ill intentions."

"I promise," he said and embraced his sister and they were as one again.

He kept his promise. A year passed and half a year. Charles yet lived despite his stepfather's efforts. He was careful in the use of his powers, touching the minds around him lightly and turning them but the slightest degree from their wont, enough to protect himself and no more. Raven shape-shifted and moved amongst the traitors, unknown and unremarked, noting their plotting and warning her brother. She had other magicks also and Charles suspected she did more than he knew, more, perhaps, than he might approve, but he said nothing for she acted out of love and the love of a fae is a fierce thing.

His sixteenth birthday came. He sat at a formal banquet amongst those who wished him ill, the chief of them married to his own mother. A few older courtiers, retainers of his father - considered toothless old hounds by Kurt, so not replaced - thought lovingly of their Prince. Many of the lower servants - so far beneath Marko's notice as to be entirely unregarded - felt great loyalty towards Charles. The rest . . . he shored up the curtain walls of his mind.

Raven was seated at one of the lower tables, flirting with a tall, blushing youth.

Stop teasing young Henry, Lord McCoy, sister.

I am not teasing, I am conversing. My behaviour is most befitting to one of noble birth, unlike that of a certain Prince Royal who was clinging like a vine to a comely stable-lad scarce a hour since.

The certain Prince Royal bit his lip to stifle his laughter.

After the feast they escaped to the library, their favoured haunt, and clambered up to a high window, using the carved stones set at the meeting of two walls as their ladder. The walls were ten feet thick in this part of the palace and the window embrasure formed a small room, which they had furnished with furs and bolsters. Once the purple velvet drapes were closed, they could sit undiscovered for hours. Raven flung open the window. The night air had a bite to it, so they wrapped themselves in furs and dangled their legs out of the window and drank from the brandy bottle Raven had hidden amongst her petticoats.

They gazed at the stars.

"There's the Huntress and the Drowned Man and the Lovers' Fall and the Seven Dancing Sisters," said Charles.

"The fae too call that one the Huntress, but the others we name God's Corpse, the Ruin of Palladia and, to our eyes, the Seven Dancing Sisters is not a constellation at all. Enough of stars. What of Marko's visit to the north?"

"It pertains to me in some way, so much I have gleaned from his thoughts. It pains me to delve too deeply into a mind so vile, but I know he is in great trepidation concerning this journey and has been vacillating between going and staying for weeks. He anticipates both gain and risk."

Raven grinned, teeth sharp and white against her blue lips.

"Perhaps he may fall into a crevasse or be eaten by a bear or have his throat slit by fierce Northmen."

Charles smiled and shook his head at his sister's bloodthirstiness.

"Is that all you know?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Could you know more?"

"Yes, but his mind is a sewer of filth and I am loathe to linger therein. I know enough. I can find out more when he returns."

Raven looked as though she wished to argue the point, but they had agreed to disagree on Charles' gift.

"Does he take Cain with him?"

"Yes, God be thanked."

They spent a happy hour drinking up the brandy and recalling every disreputable incident of Cain Marko's inglorious career. Raven climbed down from their perch before Charles, so she was able to catch him when, brandy addled, he slipped and fell the final twelve feet. Her strength was greater than that of the mightiest man. Charles spent the next day in his bedchamber, vomiting and vowing never again to touch alcohol.

The Marko's and their retinue set off for the north and the Prince and his fae sister rejoiced greatly. As spring warmed and brightened into summer, they rode and hunted and fished. When the nights grew sultry, they camped outside, well wrapped in sumptuous coverings and watched the moon and stars wheel overhead until they were dizzy with the glory of the heavens.

At the end of summer, all too soon, the Regent and his son returned.

A great welcome feast was held. Kurt spoke long of cementing alliances with the northern kingdoms and courtier after toadying courtier rose to toast him and sing his praises as a diplomat and politician. The Queen named him "Lord Protector of the Kingdom". Charles was obliged to thank his Regent for his masterful efforts on his behalf. Lord Marko graciously accepted his thanks and he and Cain smiled at Charles and then smiled at each other. Had they been hyenas, their smiles could not have been more ominous.

After the feast, Raven drew Charles aside.

"Well?"

Charles frowned.

"Kurt and Cain are most pleased with themselves, that is certain. Their memories match Kurt's account of their travels and negotiations. Yet . . . yet . . . something is not right or, rather, everything is too perfect. Memories are imperfect things. People forget. People remember events differently from each other. Recollections change over time. Yet the memories of Kurt and Cain and those who accompanied them are identical."

Raven drew back her lips in a snarl.

"This is ill news and speaks of fae magick or human sorcery. Could you do such a thing?"

"I could."

"We must be vigilant, my brother. Our eyes and ears and minds must be ever open lest we be taken unawares."

The months passed and the trees lost their leaves and the snow fell and the children pelted each other with snowballs. The Prince and Raven, Lady Darkholme, wore fur cloaks and hats and gloves and boots lined with the finest pelts and all was quiet. Indeed, the Lord Regent aimed fewer hard words at Prince Charles and young Lord Marko was not so free with his fists.

Some four weeks before Christ's Mass, Charles was leaning upon the wooden balustrade of one of the outer courtyards. He was alone. Raven was hunting and was happier without company. She joyed to hunt in her fae form and ran naked through the woods, silent and swift, nails lengthened into claws and teeth lengthened into fangs. She leapt upon her prey, great or small, deer or dove or boar or hare, and fed upon it as would a tiger.

A horse, with rider, trotted into the courtyard, hooves muffled by snow. The rider dismounted and threw back his hood and looked about him. He was tall and lean as a hound. His hair was short and dark auburn and a bright ginger scruff stippled his square jaw. His nose was straight, his cheekbones sharp and his mouth wide, the upper lip thin yet curvaceous, the lower fuller and more generous. He looked up. His gaze met Charles' and the Prince was pierced through the heart. Grey-green eyes, like unto the jade of the mountains or the tarns of the hills.

Charles gripped the balustrade until his knuckles whitened. He reached out with his gift and the stranger's mind blazed up in a glorious conflagration, dazzling, beautiful and completely unreadable. Faintness overtook him and he fell to the cold, cold snow.


End file.
